


no sweeter innocence, no gentler sin

by troubadore



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Established Relationship, M/M, Teasing, jask thirsts after his witcher what else do u want from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23305864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubadore/pseuds/troubadore
Summary: It truly is unfair, Jaskier thinks, that Geralt manages to look as good as he does like this: roughed up and hair a mess, covered in dirt and blood, eyes still slightly wild—and his trousers, good gods, the way they hug his thighs like a second skin, showing off the thick muscles from decades upon decades of rigorous training, the high waist of them emphasising how broad he is in the shoulder by keeping his loose shirt tucked against him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 242





	no sweeter innocence, no gentler sin

**Author's Note:**

> for [julia](http://twitter.com/bardlygo) ♡
> 
> julia asked for jaskier thirsting a bit after geralt in his high-waisted trousers which honestly same so i just channeled my horniness into jaskier and went from there shshshshsh

The sun is just past its zenith when Geralt stumbles back to their camp, covered in blood and what Jaskier thinks might be warg guts in his hair. 

Jaskier makes a face. "That rough, hm?" 

Geralt grunts in reply, which Jaskier accepts. He watches as Geralt takes his swords off, setting them down with care, before going for the buckles of his armor. He tosses it aside with less care as soon as he's free of it, dirty as it is, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to run his eyes over him, absently picking out places on his witcher that found themselves the targets of warg jaws and noting them for salve application later, lingering on that magnificently lovely bottom when Geralt turns around to dig through one of his bags. 

It truly is unfair, Jaskier thinks, that Geralt manages to look as good as he does like this: roughed up and hair a mess, covered in dirt and blood, eyes still slightly wild—and his trousers, good gods, the way they hug his thighs like a second skin, showing off the thick muscles from decades upon decades of rigorous training, the high waist of them emphasising how broad he is in the shoulder by keeping his loose shirt tucked against him. 

Arousal stirs in him, and Jaskier shifts in place, heat pooling in his gut. Gods, but Geralt is  _ so  _ attractive—perhaps not so classically, though Jaskier would happily debate anyone who claimed his gold eyes weren't worthy of ballads themselves, or the cut of his jaw and his sharp teeth and the scars that litter his skin—but just his confidence, the sure way he holds himself, that unfailing discipline drilled into him as a witcher. 

But also his gentleness, Jaskier thinks, watching as he softly speaks to Roach, a small curl to the corner of his mouth when she butts her head against his, and it makes his heart skip a beat even as Jaskier thinks of running his hands through that tangled white hair, tracing scars with the reverence and worship his witcher deserves, gripping those strong hips clad in those  _ gods damned _ high-waisted trousers. 

Jaskier  _ wants.  _

"I can smell your lust from here," Geralt says, bemusement lacing his tone, hand running over Roach's nose as he looks at Jaskier. 

Caught out, he supposes, offering his most salacious grin. "What can I say, dear heart? You're worth lusting after." 

"I'm covered in warg intestines." 

Jaskier makes another face at the reminder, but it does nothing to dampen his arousal. Sadly, nothing much about Geralt's profession does, these days. "I can see that." 

"And I smell even worse." 

"Debatable." Not debatable—Geralt most certainly smells like the wrong end of a kikimora, but Jaskier has learned to love it, mostly—but also not a deterrent. He simply stretches out, extending his legs so that his cock tenting his own trousers is more easily visible, more enticing to his witcher. He watches with much satisfaction as those lovely gold eyes drop to his lap, darkening to that beautiful ochre that means Geralt is  _ very  _ enticed, indeed. "Doesn't seem to be stopping me, does it?" 

Geralt shakes his head, but there's fondness in his gaze to go with the hunger as he moves away from Roach and toward Jaskier. He stops right between Jaskier's spread legs, hair hanging in ragged wisps around his dirt-covered face, falling from the hair tie, and the smell of warg intestines hits Jaskier like a punch. 

The wry grin making its way across Geralt's mouth is ever so tempting, though, full of amusement and mirth. He puts his hands on his hips, his long fingers drawing attention to the narrowness of his waist in those trousers, the bulging of his own cock in them, and Jaskier bites his lip as heat rolls through his limbs. 

"You're insatiable," Geralt murmurs, as Jaskier sits up, face even with the cock hidden behind black fabric. His hand finds its way into Jaskier's hair as Jaskier begins nuzzling at him, and he looks up at his witcher through lidded eyes. 

"Sate me, then." 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://troubadorer) // [tumblr](http://geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek.tumblr.com)


End file.
